


Cashmere and Kisses

by Carry_On_Destiel



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Badass Gil Arroyo, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of childhood abuse, Murder Mystery, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Secret Crush, Sweater Kink, Typical Malcolm Behaviour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:00:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22665151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carry_On_Destiel/pseuds/Carry_On_Destiel
Summary: Malcolm has a thing for Gil's sweaters. Malcolm is not as subtle about it as he thinks he is.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright
Comments: 36
Kudos: 167





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All references to Catholicism and the church depicted in my fic were googled literal moments before being written and liberal creative license was applied so I apologize for any mistakes 😬

_Oh no, not the red one._

Malcolm steeled himself as Gil walked into the room, shrugging out of his signature wool coat to reveal a deep red sweater that hugged every line of his torso, stretching beautifully across strong shoulders. The profiler noticed, against his will, the telltale peek of Gil's nipples through the sinfully soft fibers.

Malcolm quickly turned his eyes back to the murder board, focusing on their victim, who had been impaled gruesomely on the spiked fence of St. Peter's church. 

"Okay, so our vic is in his mid to late forties. Probably a priest, given his attire and location. There are signs that he was held captive and likely tortured before he was ultimately killed in a very public and very symbolic manner. This suggests that our killer is acting out of vengeance."

JT shifted in his seat, eyebrow furrowing, "You thinking the priest abused our killer?"

Malcolm spread his hands with flourish, "That would be my first guess, JT, however I'd hate to jump to conclusions." 

Dani snorted, "Isn't that like, your whole job?" 

Malcolm smiled graciously, "More or less, I suppose. I'd like to think there's a little more to it than that though." 

Gil smirked at the playful exchange, leaning back in his chair, "Actually, we do know that he's a priest, James Reardon, 47 years old. He's been at St. Peter's for 22 years. He has a sister, estranged, she lives in Seattle with her wife and two children. As far as I can tell, Reardon has a spotless record, not that it means much, as the Catholic Church is notorious for handling complaints internally."

"If by 'handling' you mean 'sweeping under the rug and ignoring' then I agree," Malcolm mentally adjusted his assessment to include the new information. The estranged sister was interesting, although the distance made her an unlikely suspect. She would still be a valuable source of information. 

"Right, Dani and JT, I want you to head to Reardon's house, I texted you the address. Interview the neighbors, see if he's been acting oddly or had any visitors lately," Gil stood, smoothing his sweater where it had ridden up slightly, "Bright, you're with me. We'll swing by the church and ask around."

~~~

Malcolm's gaze was drawn yet again to Gil's chest as the older man put his car in gear and pulled smoothly into traffic. The way the fabric rippled each time the detective moved, the muted sheen of the expensive knit accentuating the firm muscle below... Malcolm swallowed hard and turned away, berating himself.

 _Gotta be at least ten Hail Mary's for lusting after my boss-slash-mentor-slash-father figure..._ Malcolm snorted at his own lame joke, causing Gil to glance at him curiously. 

"Something funny, kid?"

_Shit._ "Oh. No not funny, exactly, just thinking about the case." Malcolm winced, knowing that his explanation wasn't exactly reassuring, "More about the location, that is. Churches and me, don't really mix, with me being... well, _me._ "

 _Great cover, Malcolm_. The profiler resisted facepalming with difficulty. Gil, however, seemed satisfied by his answer and merely hummed, drumming his fingers idly on the wheel as they waited at the light. Malcolm sank into his seat and tried not to notice the faintly spicy scent of Gil's cologne. 

~~~ 

They were met at the ornate doors of St. Peter's by a young nun who avoided eye contact, inclining her head deferentially. She led them through the church pews, crossing herself with a habitual motion as she neared the pulpit then swept past, through a door to the inner chambers. Malcolm gazed around with open curiosity, he'd never actually been this far into a church before and the profiler was itching to have a closer look at the rich symbolism steeped in every nook and cranny. He didn't even realize that he was drifting toward the stained glass windows until Gil's warm hand closed around the back of his neck, steering him toward the desk. Malcolm shivered as Gil's thumb brushed casually through the sensitive hair at his nape. The profiler forced himself to pull away from the gentle caress before his body responded in a humiliating fashion. 

The man seated at the desk gestured for them to sit and steepled his fingers serenely. Malcolm wondered if the man had ever seen a cheesy villain in a children's cartoon before or if the resemblance was purely accidental. 

"Thank you for coming, Detectives. We are all truly devastated by this untimely loss. Father Reardon was a beacon of joy to everyone he met, our lives are diminished even as the Heavens rejoice in his arrival." The Archbishop, slightly older than Gil, inclined his head with a look of artful sorrow. 

_Wow. Laying it on a little thick._ Malcolm and Gil exchanged a glance, clearly the detective also found the excessive pomp suspicious but he offered the man a polite nod, "We are sorry for your loss, Archbishop John."

"Yes, it must be very difficult," Malcolm agreed, "Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt Ja- Father Reardon?"

The archbishop turned cool hazel eyes on Malcolm, a flicker of disapproval marring his tranquil expression, "Father Reardon was deeply loved. If anyone held animosity toward him, they were not a member of this congregation."

Malcolm pressed on, "Well, for him to be murdered here, at the oldest church in New York City, that seems like someone is trying to send a pretty strong message, don't you think?"

The older man turned away, eyes falling closed prayerfully, "I can't claim to understand why people do such depraved things," he looked at Gil instead, "However, I trust that you gentlemen will do everything in your power to bring his killer to justice."

Gil matched the Archbishop's calm yet authoritative demeanour with ease, "That's what we do, Father," the Archbishop twitched but didn't protest the incorrect address, "now if you don't mind, we would like to interview the person who called in the murder... Sister Leanne, I believe?"

"Ah, I'm afraid Sister Leanne was so distraught that I sent her home to compose herself. Perhaps tomorrow she will be prepared to answer your questions."

Malcolm opened his mouth to object but Gil touched his leg subtly and stood, "Of course, thank you for your time, John."

This time the Archbishop actually flinched at the informality. He rose slowly touching a small silver bell on his desk. The quiet nun appeared immediately to escort them outside. 

~~~

Malcolm waited until the heavy doors thudded closed behind them before he rounded on his companion, "What the hell was _that_ , Gil? Since when do we let the witnesses dictate our interview process?"

"Take it easy, Bright. They were always going to stonewall us," Gil seemed unconcerned, "I've dealt with the church before; make no mistake, they are already conducting their own investigation and they won't be giving us any information until they've decided that it won't tarnish their rep." 

Malcolm nodded slowly, considering, "If we push too much, they'll be even less cooperative."

"Exactly." Gil winked, veering off the walkway toward the fence where James Reardon's body had been discovered but rather than reexamine the scene as Malcolm expected, Gil ducked around the corner of the building and headed toward a small access door, framed by ancient creeping vines. Malcolm was even more surprised when Gil quietly turned the handle and pushed the door open several inches. 

"Detective Arroyo, breaking and entering? I am shocked!" 

"I'm not breaking anything, kid," Gil flashed a quick smile, "besides, His Grace is trusting us to solve this tragic crime. He said so himself."

Malcolm stifled a laugh as he followed Gil through the low doorway. 

~~~

They entered a small, oddly lit room; Malcolm guessed the light fixtures hadn't been updated since the 1930's. The church basement was far less sumptuously decorated, intended for efficient use of a limited space rather than ostentatious display. Before Malcolm could glean any further information from his surroundings, another door opened and the timid nun from upstairs entered, eyes widening with alarm when she noticed them.

"Detectives! You can't be here!" She hissed, scurrying forward, "The church grounds are private property!"

"Sister Leanne, I presume?" Gil asked, blinking innocently when she pulled up short, looking surprised, "We just wanted to ask you a few questions about Father Reardon."

She glanced nervously at the door she'd emerged from, "I already told 911 everything I know. Please, you need to leave now." 

"I'm sorry, Sister, I don't mean to pry," Malcolm stepped forward, with his most earnest look, "it's just that, the questions we have aren't about how he was killed. We're more interested in who he was before he died. It will really help us to understand why he was killed. If we learn that, we can find his killer."

Leanne fidgeted, toying with the edge her habit, "He was a good man," she noticed Malcolm's skepticism immediately, "No, detective, he _was_! He was the most genuinely righteous man of the cloth I have ever known. I - I believe that is what got him killed." 

~~~ 

Malcolm jumped into the car, scribbling down everything Leanne had told them in his notebook, with hasty annotations crammed into the margins detailing his personal observations. When he finally looked up, they were already halfway back to the station. Malcolm felt a giddy rush of excitement surging through his veins, the kind only a truly fascinating case could incite.

"So what's the profile, kid?" Gil asked, sneaking a pointless glance at the graffitied page of indecipherable shorthand, "Still think it's a vengeful ex-church member?"

"Oh no, let's save it for the rest of the team." Malcolm grinned, "Uh. And you have a leaf on your sweater. Right there." 

Gil glanced down but the offending foliage was too high on his collar to see. He reached up blindly, feeling around but after he missed three times, Malcolm finally leaned across to help. He _should_ have just plucked the leaf away and been done with it. Instead... His fingers grazed over kitten-soft wool, stuttering as he began to lift. The spiny edge of the leaf caught in the fine weave, resisting his attempt. Malcolm hesitated, inhumanly aware of Gil's body heat, bleeding through the rich fabric.

"What's the problem, Bright?" Gil asked, voice lower than usual, almost rough.

"Um," Malcolm's fingers twitched but didn't pull away, "it's stuck.. I don't want to unravel your sweater." 

"Well." Malcolm could feel Gil's breath tickling his wrist as he spoke, "This _is_ my favourite sweater."

"Mine too," Malcolm replied, without thinking... then froze as Gil turned to face him, warm brown eyes sparkling with amusement.

Malcolm was vaguely aware that they had pulled into the station parking lot, no longer moving. No excuse for his pulse to be racing this quickly. His palm was still on Gil's chest, his fingers stroking mindlessly at the red cashmere. He could feel the steady thud of Gil's heartbeat reverberating through his own body. Gil's hand slid up to cover Malcolm's and the older man shifted forward, filling Malcolm's vision as he leaned in. 

"Tell me if this isn't okay, kid" he whispered, breath ghosting over Malcolm's skin a moment before their lips met.

Malcolm's brain short circuited, locking him in place as Gil - _Gil!_ \- kissed him softly, almost hesitantly. When Malcolm didn't respond, Gil drew back swiftly, regret plain on his features. 

" _Fuck_. I'm sorry, Bright. I thought... I shouldn't ha-"  
  
His apology was cut short as Malcolm lunged forward to capture his mouth again, both hands sinking into heavenly softness. Gil groaned, lips parting just enough to allow Malcolm's tongue to slip inside, deepening the kiss. They sank into each other; soft gasps of pleasure filling the cramped air around them. Gil's strong hand slid up, carding through silky hair, tilting Malcolm's head back as Gil kissed his way down the younger man's throat...

A car door slammed nearby, wrenching them apart and back to reality.

_Holy fuck, what just happened?_


	2. Chapter 2

Malcolm was still buzzing with arousal as they entered the morgue to hear Edrisa's findings. The cold blue lighting and strange sterile atmosphere did nothing to dampen the surreal feeling hanging in the air as Gil approached the body. 

"Mr. Bright!" Edrisa was as perky as ever, practically bouncing across the room to greet the profiler, "How are you? Ooh pretty fascinating case isn't it? Sad though, of course, the priest dying." She seemed to struggle with herself for a moment then burst out, "How does Moses make his coffee? ... _Hebrews_ it!! Get it? _Brews?_ "

Malcolm groaned, smiling in spite of himself at the terrible pun, "Dr. Tanaka, lovely to see you again, as always."

"Have you learned anything else about our victim, Edrisa?" Gil sounded a little more stern than usual, forestalling any further banter, "Cause of death, perhaps?" 

Edrisa made a face, "Um, cause of death would be the three wrought-iron stakes driven through his thoracic region!" She gestured at the gaping wounds, "Based on the glass found on and around the body - not to mention the shattered second-floor window at the scene - I postulate that our victim was pushed through the window and landed on the fence. He would have died within minutes."

Malcolm shuddered at the image, the agony James Reardon must have felt before he was killed...

"However!" Edrisa interrupted his dark train of thought, "I think there's a good chance that our killer didn't actually _intend_ to push James here out the window. I noticed that our vic's ankle was badly sprained just moments before his death - couple that with the damage to his wrists-"

Malcolm suddenly realized what she was getting at, " _Oh!_ Of course! His captors must have caught him escaping and tried to stop him - during the struggle James tripped, or was pushed, hard enough to injure his ankle and then he fell..."

This revelation completely turned his profile on its head. Fascinating. 

"Wait, so you're saying he may have been held captive in the church?" Gil looked between them, frowning, "That means our killer is almost certainly a member of the clergy - no one else has access to the upper chambers."

_Shit._

Gil was right. They may already have met the murderer that day. 

"I know what you're thinking, Bright," Gil laid soothing hand on Malcolm's arm, "but we're not rushing back in there to arrest the Archbishop. If we make a move without sufficient evidence, we'll get the whole case thrown out before it even reaches a trial. We don't even know it was him."

"Then let's get more evidence!"

~~~

"Neighbors all say that Reardon was the ideal neighbor, kept to himself but always contributed to all the kids' fundraisers, kept his lawn mowed but never woke anyone up at 7 am with the mower." JT rattled off his news efficiently, "Nobody said anything about visitors but apparently the lady across the street saw him leaving the house around 9 the night before he was killed."

"I take it that was unusual for him?" Malcolm queried, knowing the answer. 

"Very unusual," confirmed Dani, "his neighbors all agree that he was nothing if not predictable." 

"He had given a house key to his next door neighbor, Larry Fields, when he went to the seminary this past summer, which we were able to use to get inside his house."

"Oh," Malcolm looked up from his notes, "Anything interesting turn up there?"

JT shrugged, "Nothing jumped out at us. Looks like it was the family home, inherited from his parents, both died young, going by the photo albums. The last number dialed on the landline was to Seattle. Probably the sister." 

Malcolm scrubbed a hand over his face regretfully. The victim's childhood home would be almost as invaluable to him as the killer's, "I want to be the one who speaks to the sister. I have some theories that she may be able to confirm."

Gil sat up straighter, nodding, "That's probably for the best, we haven't been able to reach her as next of kin yet. But before you do that, why don't you let us know what these theories are?"

"Right, of course, so Sister Leanne told us that Father Reardon was exceptionally well-liked and respected by his flock; that he had never had a negative word said about him in over 20 years with the clergy - yet for whatever reason, he remained a priest rather than advancing to being a Bishop."

"What's the difference?" Dani asked, looking genuinely interested, "I've always wanted to know."

"It's like the difference between a manager and a regional manager," JT responded, "The bishop sets a guideline for the priests in his diocese to carry out."

Gil, Malcolm and Dani stared at JT in surprise. 

"What? I'm from a long line of Catholics." JT grumbled defensively.

"Good to know," Malcolm made another quick note, "Anyway, according to Leanne, James had all the necessary requirements to be promoted and there was a ....Bishopship?" Malcolm glanced at JT who winced, "Sorry, JT - um, the Bishop position was available but rather than give it to Reardon, they brought in Archbishop John from Chicago."

"So everybody loved the guy and he was the perfect example of a religious authority figure but they won't promote him?" Dani recapped, "Sounds like an internal conflict. Maybe our guy made enemies with his higher ups?"

Malcolm tapped his nose and pointed at Dani excitedly, "Precisely, Detective! And I think our victim's sister can shed more light on exactly why that is!"

Gil laced his fingers together on the tabletop and Malcolm shivered a little, recalling those slender but strong hands tugging at his hair... _Not the time, Bright!_

"Okay, Bright you keep trying to reach the sister. I'll talk to a judge about getting a warrant to search the church - if we're lucky we can get in there before they destroy the evidence." Gil tapped his intertwined hands against the wooden tabletop, "Dani, JT... go home. We'll call if we get anything."

The other two detectives looked pleasantly surprised and wasted no time clearing out of the office before Gil changed his mind. Which left Gil and Malcolm alone on the abandoned Major Crimes floor. Even the custodian wouldn't be around for a couple hours. 

Malcolm wet his lips nervously; wondering if this had been Gil's intention but Gil wasn't even looking at him. He was already on his way back to his private office, phone in hand. Malcolm let out a shaky breath, flipped to a clean page in his notebook and dialled Jennifer Reardon's number.

~~~

"Hello?" The feminine voice sounded warm and friendly through the speaker.

"Hello, this is Malcolm Bright, with the NYPD. Is this Jennifer Reardon?" Malcolm put on his best professional voice, "we have some news about her brother, James."

"Jimmy?" the reply was hushed, fearful, "What happened, is he okay?"

"Um... I'm sorry Miss Reardon, I'm afraid he was killed. Last night." Malcolm could hear the choked gasp as Jennifer absorbed the news, "I'm very sorry for your loss, Miss Reardon."

"It's Jones now," came the numb response, "got married..." She took a deep shuddering breath, "How- I just spoke to Jimmy last night, he said he was finally going to..."

Her voiced trailed off as she began to cry, quiet sobs muffled through the phone. Malcolm's heart ached with sympathy but he focused on her words, "He was going to what, Miss- Mrs. Jones?"

"He said he was going to catch the man who hurt me. The one who..." she fell silent abruptly, "It was a long time ago. It doesn't even matter anymore, it wasn't worth getting himself killed over!"

She sounded furious now. Malcolm could almost picture her angrily wiping tears from her face, pacing restlessly. 

"Can you tell me what happened? Any information you can give me might be the key to solving his murder," Malcolm prodded gently, knowing she might decide to hang up at any moment, "Please Jennifer. By all accounts, your brother was a good man. He deserves justice."

_Silence._ Malcolm could hear muffled voices in the background, like someone had just entered the house. Finally, Jennifer sighed and said, "My wife and kids just got home, I have to go. I'll call you back in 20 minutes." _Click._

~~~

Malcolm jotted down what he had learned from the brief conversation then made his way to Gil's office. The door was ajar but Malcolm knocked before entering, finding Gil seated at the simple desk, feet propped up on the corner looking pleased. 

"Good news, kid!" He announced, "because the murder took place on church property, we don't need a warrant to search the entire premises. We can even bar everyone else from going in until after we've conducted a full investigation. I've already sent Dani and JT to take care of it."

"Well. So much for their night off," Malcolm mused, "I also have news, though not as good as yours. I spoke to the sister." Malcolm perched on the edge of Gil's desk, "She sounded genuinely devastated by the news. She mentioned something that happened a long time ago, that 'Jimmy' had called her about last night. She wouldn't go into detail and she seemed angry that James had brought it up."

Gil listened intently, watching Malcolm's face with those piercing dark eyes, "That sounds relevant to our case, what else?"

"Not much, her family interrupted but she said she would call back soon." 

"Hm," Gil dropped his feet to the floor, swivelling his chair, "I guess I'll wait, give you a ride back to the crime scene after." His fingertips grazed Malcolm's knee, sliding up to curl around the younger man's waist, pulling gently, "In the meantime..."

Malcolm's breath hitched at the growl in Gil's voice and allowed himself to be drawn between the older man's spread thighs. 

"Gil..." Malcolm pressed his palms into gorgeously soft cashmere, kneading firm muscle below, "fuck, Gil..."

Their mouths met in a breathless kiss, falling into a heated rhythm, pressing desperately into each other. Somehow, Malcolm found himself straddling the detective's lap; Gil's hands gripping his hips, rocking them together insistently.

"You're so fucking gorgeous, Bright," Gil whispered as they parted for breath, " _God,_ you have no idea what you do to me..."

Malcolm moaned softly as Gil found his throat again, "Jesus, Gil, don't stop..."

Any thought Malcolm had of removing Gil's torturously perfect sweater vanished when his phone rang out cheerily in the dimly lit room. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warning**
> 
> Mentions of childhood sexual abuse and neglect. Not graphic but read with caution.

"It was 23 years ago," Jennifer's voice was soft, laced with old pain, "I was eleven. I had just started to realize that I wasn't attracted to boys. My parents found out and insisted that I speak to a priest."

Malcolm was quiet, allowing her to gather her thoughts, chest tight as he considered the possible outcome of the late Reardons' decision. 

"The priest was very kind, very understanding. Told me that it wasn't my fault and that I wasn't going to be in trouble. As long as I didn't act on my ' _urges_ '," she snorted softly, "As long as I pretended to be straight... I wouldn't go to hell. Good deal, right?"

_No_ , Malcolm thought angrily, imagining how difficult it would be for an eleven year old child to understand how manipulative and cruel it was to threaten them with eternal damnation for simply existing. 

"No." He said aloud, "I'm sorry... I'm sorry, please, go on."

She was quiet for several moments before continuing, "After a few months of meeting with him, I started to realize that my sexual orientation wasn't something that I could just change. That its part of who I am, how I was made, and that I wasn't going to be ashamed of that."

Malcolm felt a surge of pride, followed quickly by dread as Jennifer took a shaky breath.

"He didn't like that." she muttered, "He told me that he was going to ' _fix_ ' me. That's when the abuse started."

Malcolm clenched his fists tightly to stop them from shaking, "Mrs. Jones.. I'm so sorry. If you need to take a moment..."

"No. No, I might as well get it out now or I won't finish at all," she stated, voice hard, "It was weeks before I finally got the nerve to tell anyone what he was doing. I told my mother. She accused me of making it up to get out of seeing him." Jennifer's voice shook with fury, "My mother, accused her own eleven year old child of fabricating rape allegations."

Malcolm heard something shatter over the line, as though Jennifer had thrown a glass. 

"But Jimmy, he overheard us talking. He was older than me by 13 years, home from college or something, I can't really remember." she laughed, humorlessly, "He was furious. I'd never seen him so angry. He made sure I never went back to that church. He filed a complaint with the police, which was dismissed. He attempted to have the priest ousted from the church - eventually they transferred him to another diocese, but he was never really punished. Jimmy wouldn't let it stand."

"That's why he took the cloth.." Malcolm realized, "He did it for you."

Her voice broke, shattering like the glass, " _Yes_. He decided that the only way to make a difference, to prevent further abuse, was to join the church and fight them from within." 

The profiler scratched several lines from his notebook, revising his initial judgement of the victim.

"I _hated_ that he was a priest. I couldn't bear to be around him... I was so ungrateful, _god_ , I barely spoke to him after he joined." her voice was hardly audible, filled with shame, "I don't know how many children he protected from living through what I experienced. Dozens? Hundreds maybe? And he never stopped trying to find the one who... the one who hurt me."

"You said he called you last night?" Malcolm pressed, "What did he say?"

"He said he'd finally found him and he was going to bring him down." Jennifer sighed, "Jimmy knew that it was too late to convict him on what he'd done to me... but he'd gathered enough evidence of more recent victims, ones who were willing to testify. It was enough to put him away, he said. That's all I know."

"Okay... okay, thank you for all your help," Malcolm was more determined than ever to find the killer, "if you think of anything else, call me. Day or night."

"Thank you, Detective Bright. Catch this bastard." 

She hung up before Malcolm could assure her that they would.

~~~

"James had to have kept a physical record of his investigation somewhere!" Malcolm had scoured every inch of the church, "I need to search his home; it has to be there, Gil!" 

Gil raised a soothing hand, "I believe you Bright. We'll find it okay, just let us finish up here. We found the place where Reardon was held, we know there's only like 3 people, including Reardon himself, who had access to this area."

Malcolm paced frantically, "This is about more than just proving who killed him, Gil! It's about proving why he was killed," Malcolm was talking too loud, he didn't care, "James Reardon died trying to do what the police should have done 20 years ago. I won't let his life's work die with him."

"Bright, look at me." 

Malcolm finally stopped moving and met Gil's steady gaze. The calming effect was instantaneous, draining away the ocean of anxiety that threatened to swallow him. 

"I know that this is important to you, kid." Gil's tone was firm but kind, "It's important to all of us." 

"Damn right it is," JT agreed, rifling through a desk drawer, "I may be a lapsed Catholic but I still take it personally when predators walk free among the flock."

Unies had already taken Archbishop John and Sister Leanne back to the station for questioning; St. Peter's was taped off and crawling with CSU, cataloguing evidence and collecting finger prints from every viable surface. It was important work, Malcolm's knew, but knowing did nothing to ease his impatience with the process. 

His phone rang, distracting him, "Hello?"

"Detective Bright? It's Jennifer, I'm sorry to call so late but I just remembered something that you should know."

Malcolm perked up immediately, ducking out of the room to hear better, "What is it?"

"When we were growing up, our parents were extremely strict, so we had a secret stash for everything they wouldn't approve of. Clothes, music, books." She sounded nostalgic for a moment, "In our old upstairs bedroom - it was his room first, he showed me where the stash was when he moved out and I got his room. Um... under the big dresser, there's a removable floorboard... He probably didn't even use it anymore, since our parents died. But it's worth a shot, right?"

Malcolm was already halfway down the stairs, "Jennifer, you may have just solved this case for us! I have to go but thank you, thank you."

Malcolm hung up and immediately dialled for a cab. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence and the use of a homophobic slur in this chapter.

Malcolm thrust several bills at the cab driver and climbed out of the car, heart pounding. James Reardon's house was small but well-maintained, white with a pale blue front door. Malcolm approached the house slowly, nerves alight.

The front door was unlocked, opening with the faintest creak at Malcolm's touch. The profiler entered the dark house cautiously, eyes adjusting quickly to the low light. Whoever had been here before him had torn the sitting room apart, furniture overturned, drawers emptied haphazardly. Malcolm crept carefully through the mess, fully aware that the intruder could still be in the house. 

Gil's voice echoed in his head: " _Call. For. Backup."_

_Next time for sure_ , Malcolm promised silently as he ghosted up the narrow staircase. 

~~~ 

The upper floor was trashed even more thoroughly than the main level. Family photos were scattered across the hallway, picture frames shattered needlessly. The hatred for James' legacy was palpable. Malcolm found the Reardon children's old bedroom quickly. The dresser Jennifer mentioned was standing agape, drawers scattered and broken, contents strewn violently around the tiny space; the mirror on top splintered and sagging forward.

But it was there, still standing. 

Malcolm glanced over his shoulder, down the darkened hallway before dropping to his knees. He felt through the layer of torn clothing and glass shards, reaching under the sturdy dresser until he found the edge of the floorboard. His fingers hooked into the joint, lifting the narrow plank up and away. Malcolm was grateful at that moment, that his wrists were more slender than the average man's as he twisted awkwardly to reach inside the cramped space. His hand closed around a book. 

_Yes_. 

Malcolm withdrew his prize, vibrating with excitement as he recognized it as a leather-bound journal. 

"Well, well, well. Thank you very much for your assistance, Detective."

The quiet voice was like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head. 

"Don't try anything stupid, cop. I _will_ shoot you," continued the unknown intruder, a metallic click emphasizing his words, "I have nothing left to lose." 

~~~

Malcolm kept his hands raised as the journal was yanked from his grip. The killer remained behind him but Malcolm chanced a peek at the shattered mirror. The image was distorted, fragmented and unclear but even so, Malcolm was positive that he had never seen the man's face before. Not the Archbishop after all. _Wrong_ _again_ , he realized just as a vicious blow landed on his cheek, splitting the skin and knocking him to the floor. Glass pierced his hands and forearms as he caught himself. 

"You have no idea what that bastard took from me!" the voiced snarled, "all for what? His stupid dyke sister?"

Malcolm got to his feet slowly, facing the killer, blood dripping hot and fast down his face, "You abused a child in your care. You took advantage of your position to hurt people who trusted you. You deserved everything you got and more."

"Fuck you!" Spittle flew as the man raged, "Everywhere I went, he found me! I don't know how but it didn't matter how far I ran, how many times I changed my name, he always fucking found me!"

Malcolm allowed the man to scream, edging slightly out of spitting range.

"Every city and every town, it didn't matter how large or small, they would always find out what I'd done... my family disowned me. Eventually even the church decided I was too much trouble to keep around and got rid of me. But even then, he haunted me, never let me rest. He wouldn't let me forget!" His eyes were wild, deranged, "I could have changed! Who was he to decide that I didn't get a second chance?"

"Did you?" Malcolm knew it was stupid to antagonize the raging murderer but he couldn't help himself, "Did you change your ways? Did you stop hurting innocent children?" 

"They weren't innocent!" He snapped harshly, "They were all sick twisted abominations in the Eyes of the Lord! All of them; their souls were possessed by Satan's influence! I was trying to save them!"

Malcolm refrained from rolling his eyes with difficulty, "Just a misunderstood hero, aren't you? My mistake." 

The other man smiled, mouth stretching wide in a terrifying mockery of humor, "Well. You can burn alongside them then."

The gun raised, Malcolm stared down the barrel with a sinking heart. 

Back up would be really nice right about now...


	5. Chapter 5

Two quick shots rang out in the oppressive silence. The nameless killer jerked as the bullet struck his shoulder, his own gun firing as a gout of blood splattered Malcolm's chest. 

The profiler stared wide-eyed past the fallen gunman, meeting Gil's intense gaze. The older man kept his weapon trained on the killer, stepping forward to kick the gun away. 

"Keep your hands where I can see them, roll onto your stomach." 

Malcolm's hands trembled as he watched Gil cuff the middle-aged man, unsympathetic to his cries of agony and hauled him upright with one hand. The room seemed to blur before his eyes then Malcolm's knees buckled and he collapsed, falling into merciful blackness.

~~~ 

Consciousness came incrementally. The first thing Malcolm was aware of was the smell, antiseptic cleaners that couldn't quite mask the scent of blood. Then sounds filtered in; jumbled and unclear, voices from down a wide hallway, machines blipping nearby, a vacuum humming in the next room. Lastly, the profiler became aware of a warm, steady weight across his legs... Malcolm opened his eyes, squinting against the sunlight bouncing off of harsh white paint. The first thing his eyes focused on was the sleeping figure draped across his thighs.

"Gil...?" his voice was raspy, throat dry and raw, "Gil, what happened..?"

The detective woke with a start, head jerking up and Malcolm winced at the sudden, searing pain in his right thigh, "Bright! You're awake, how are you feeling?"

"Um..." Malcolm frowned, trying to shake away the fog of pain killers, "thirsty, mainly? Confused..."

Gil handed the younger man a cup of water, "Here. So last night, after you got that call and I realized you hadn't come back, I knew you must have gone to Reardon's place. Alone." Gil's eyes narrowed angrily, "So JT and I got there as fast as we could. We could hear you talking to the killer when we got inside and we managed to get upstairs while you had him distracted. I shot him first but his shot winged your leg. You passed out from the shock."

Malcolm shook his head, annoyed, "But the killer, who was he? He wasn't from the church, how did he get Reardon upstairs to kill him?"

Gil pressed Malcolm back into the pillow, "It was Reardon's 'neighbor' Larry Fields."

_What_ , _who_? That didn't even make _sense_. Malcolm said as much. 

"His real name is Laurence Addams. He called Reardon the night he died, posing as a parishioner in crisis to lure him to the church. Once he was there, Addams tied Reardon up and and tortured him. He wanted to know how Reardon was able to keep locating him - and he wanted to destroy all trace of Reardon's research. Give himself a fresh start." Gil explained, his fingers drifting idly over Malcolm's bandaged cheek, "But then Reardon escaped and Addams pushed him out the window. After that, Addams knew he would have to find the evidence because it would implicate him in the murder as well as the years of abuse. He searched Reardon's house before we got there then posed as a helpful neighbor to throw us off the scent."

Malcolm was grudgingly impressed by Addams' ingenuity. 

"After JT checked the place and turned up nothing useful, Addams thought it was safe enough for him to conduct a more thorough search - which is when you found him." 

"So how _did_ Reardon keep track of Addams all this time?" Malcolm wondered, not sure if Gil could actually answer him. 

"At first, just plain old church grapevine gossip. He kept his ear to the ground and any time he heard of a problem priest, he was in there like a dirty shirt. He had extensive notes on dozens of suspected molesters and abusers, many of whom he managed to get arrested." Gil's smile was sharp, "But Addams was his obsession; he spent two decades tracking him. He finally found a victim who was willing to testify against Addams and get him locked away. Sister Leanne."

Malcolm melted back into the pillows as everything fell into place, "Has Jennifer been informed?"

"Yeah kid," Gil nodded, "She's catching a flight up here to thank you personally."

Relief washed over the profiler, "Thanks Gil. And I'm sorry... I didn't call for back up. Again."

Gil stroked Malcolm's hair fondly, shaking his head, "At least I knew where to find you this time. You're making progress, kid."

Malcolm felt a stir of excitement at the way Gil was looking down at him, gaze heated. The detective's fingers were still tangled in Malcolm's hair.

"Oh darling! You're awake at last!" Jessica Whitly's relief was unmistakable, "How many times am I going to have to find you lying on your deathbed, Malcolm dear? You're going to drive me to drink. Even more than I already do!"

Gil withdrew his hand reluctantly, fingertips trailing across Malcolm's stubbled jaw before falling back to his side. He smiled softly, "I'll come back later, kid, lots of paperwork to file."


	6. Chapter 6

The doctor kept Malcolm for observation, as well as a stern lecture about putting himself in harm's way so soon after his encounter with John Watkins. He was released at 6pm, with orders to go straight home to rest and recuperate. 

_Well, the police station was on the way home. Sort of._

The profiler stepped off the elevator, limping slightly, and came face to face with Dani; who didn't look remotely surprised to see him, "Your mom already called me, told me to drag you home in cuffs if you showed up here."

Malcolm smiled innocently, "I'm on my way, promise! Just need to take care of one more thing."

"Bright, you're a damn liar and those puppy dog eyes aren't fooling anyone. Lucky for you, I'm on my way to St. Margaret's to catch another one of Reardon's targets - that man should have been a detective. I'll let Gil deal with you," she brushed past him, onto the elevator. Malcolm waved cheerfully as the doors closed between them. 

~~~

Malcolm paused outside Gil's office, quelling a sudden rush of nerves. What if he had just hallucinated everything that had happened between them? It wouldn't be the first time his damaged brain had betrayed him - although, if it was fake, this was certainly the most pleasant illusion he'd ever experienced. 

"You coming in or not, kid?" Gil called through the door, amused.

Malcolm let himself in, sheepishly, "Hey."

"Hey, Bright." Gil stood up as Malcolm entered, "How are you feeling?" 

"Surprisingly good," Malcolm admitted, truthfully, "Pretty sure my mom got me the good painkillers, I can barely feel anything." 

Gil shook his head, exasperated, "You should be in bed." 

Malcolm bit his lip and took the risk, "Only if you come with me..."

The detective was already pulling Malcolm against his chest, drawing him into a tender kiss; strong arms folding protectively around Malcolm's lean shoulders. Malcolm whimpered quietly into the kiss, hands sliding up the front of Gil's body to wrap around the taller man's neck. Suddenly Malcolm realized that Gil was wearing his cream cable knit sweater, another favourite, but-

"Gil!" Malcolm gasped, pulling away, "the red sweater! Is it okay?"

Gil blinked, "Are you serious, Bright?" He pressed his hips suggestively against Malcolm's, "That's what you want to talk about right now?"

" _No.._? No, of course not... just.." Malcolm blustered a little, cheeks heating as Gil's hands toyed with his belt, "It's a really nice sweater..."

"I know all about your sweater kink, kid." Gil teased, nibbling Malcolm's ear, "Why do you think I have so many of them?"

Malcolm's jaw dropped. _Not_ _fair_! But Gil's fingers were working his buttons open and Malcolm couldn't bring himself to protest as he pulled the detective's sweater off and their bare skin finally met. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, Broyo ❤️  
> Thanks for reading everyone. Enough comments might inspire me to add proper smut (just saying 😉😉)


	7. Chapter 7

Malcolm gasped into the kiss, dizzy with arousal and adrenalin and the cocktail of painkillers flooding through his veins. The cuts on his hands were stinging but it didn't stop him from clutching at warm, smooth skin; reaching up to thread his fingers through Gil's thick dark hair. 

Gil steered Malcolm back against his desk, until the younger man was half-perched on the edge, pressing into the gap of his thighs, "Dammit Bright," he rumbled, nipping roughly at pale skin, "This is such a bad idea..."

Malcolm laughed, breathy and exhilarated, "Hardly the worst thing I've done in the past 24 hours."

The detective pulled away abruptly, fixing Malcolm with a hard, searching look. He stepped back. Malcolm whimpered at the loss but Gil turned away wordlessly, reaching for the doorknob. The lock clicked, to Malcolm's intense relief, then Gil closed the blinds, shutting them away from the rest of the bullpen. 

"Gonna need you to keep it down, kid," Gil warned, as his hands found Malcolm's belt again, "If anyone comes in, we're not here."

Malcolm nodded eagerly, leaning up for another soft, slow kiss as Gil's fingers hooked under his waistband and pulled. Malcolm raised his hips to allow his trousers and underwear to be tugged down around his ankles, dangling off the corner of Gil's desk - this was quickly turning into his hottest fantasy come to life. Gil was gentle but confident, every movement full of intent; cupping Malcolm's jaw tenderly, laying a final kiss onto parted lips.

"I'm gonna take care of you, Bright," he murmured as he dropped to his knees, "Gotta be quiet though, okay?"

Malcolm was too stunned to reply as Gil lowered his head, hand wrapping around Malcolm's aching shaft and guiding it to his mouth. The profiler stared in disbelief as Gil's lips parted, tongue sipping out to glide wetly over the swollen head of his cock, smearing away the bead of pre-come gathered at the tip. Gil moaned faintly as the flavor hit his tastebuds.

"...holy fuck..! _Gil_..." 

As soon as the words left his mouth, Gil swallowed his cock down, taking over half his shaft into the slick heat of his mouth. Malcolm's hands clutched at silvery black hair, a startled whine torn from his throat, in spite of his determination to remain silent. Gil slid up and down his shaft smoothly several times then eased back to lavish attention on the sensitive head, licking and sucking with torturous unpredictability. The older man kept one hand wrapped around the base of Malcolm's cock while the other skated down to tease his balls. Malcolm shifted awkwardly on the desktop, spreading his thighs even farther, not even trying to be subtle about where he wanted Gil's other hand to explore. 

" _Fuck_ kid," Gil's voice was roughened as he pulled off Malcolm's cock, "you're so fuckin' eager to take it, aren't you?"

Nodding shamelessly, Malcolm lifted his hips again, " _Yes_ _fuck_ -please Gil, fuck, I _need_.."

Gil's finger nudged against Malcolm's greedy hole, pushing just enough to make him whimper again, "... _fuck_... you have no idea..." his hand withdrew reluctantly, "That's gonna have to wait for next time, Bright. When I can lay you down on that big bed of yours and give you the fucking you deserve..."

"Oh my _god_ , Gil, yes _fuck_..." Malcolm fell backwards onto the wide desk, scattering pens onto the floor, " _please_.."

Gil, still lazily working Malcolm's shaft, smiled as the kid's cock jumped in his loose grip. He was pretty sure Malcolm had only heard part of what he'd said, desperate as he was for relief. Gil lowered his head, sucking the younger man's twitching cock down in one smooth motion. Malcolm choked back a moan, thrusting weakly into Gil's throat.

"Fuck Gil, I'm gonna... _fuck_.."

Gil could feel Malcolm's thighs quivering as he tried to restrain himself, holding back his release with every ounce of willpower. The detective squeezed harder, pistoning up and down his cock with expert efficiency, mouth held open invitingly, "Come on, Bright. Come for me..."

Malcolm raised his head off the desk to look at Gil, messy haired and wild eyed, "Oh jesus, Gil!"

Then he was coming, hips bucking helplessly as he spilled into Gil's waiting mouth, unable to contain his shuddering groan as the orgasm crashed through his body, arching sharply against unforgiving hardwood.

Gil sucked him through it, swallowing the bitter-salty come hungrily, still loosely stroking Malcolm's pulsing cock until the kid shied away from the sensation, post-orgasmic over sensitivity making him wince. Gil released him quickly, leaning down to pant softly against Malcolm's bare thigh, laying several open-mouthed kisses against sensitive skin.

A strange tension filled the air as Gil stood up, his knees protesting the extended strain of the cold floor. The detective lifted Malcolm back to a sitting position carefully, cringing apologetically as Malcolm hissed. The pain killers must be starting to wear off, Malcolm's hands were throbbing from the dozens of cuts scattered across his palms. 

Malcolm broke the silence first, "So... about that next time..."

Gil snorted, smiling in spite of the sudden awkwardness, "Bright... you are just ... unbelievable." he ignored his own still-hard cock as he kissed Malcolm gently, thumb brushing cautiously over the white bandage covering the gash on his cheekbone, "I'll tell you what's going to happen next. I'm going to take you home, make you take your meds. I'll give you a glass of water and lay you in that nice big bed of yours... I'm going to make sure your restraints are on and then... I'll tuck you in and make sure you get a good long sleep."

Malcolm slapped Gil's shoulder in mock annoyance, "Detective Arroyo, who knew you were such a fucking tease?" 

"I just want to make sure you're well-rested kid, so I can fuck you properly next time..."


End file.
